


Larisa

by angelaiswriting (carolinemoore)



Series: Larisa [4]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: (Mentions of) Female Sterilization, Age Difference (in a flashback), Bad Dirty Talk, Dark Past, Dirty Talk, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Manipulation, Masturbation, Oral Sex (mentions), Public Masturbation, Pussy Slide, Sex, Sex with the Enemy (mentions), Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Sort of Authority Play, Vaginal Fingering, Voyeurism, consensual voyeurism, mentions of killing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 05:55:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18632167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolinemoore/pseuds/angelaiswriting
Summary: Todorovky’s second Italian soirée means facing a tormenting past for Larisa. Still battered and broken after what happened fourteen years ago, she’s now forced to meet her only nightmare as the memories come back full force.





	Larisa

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
> Buon divertimento = Have fun

**LARISA**

 

Lara wasn’t looking at Steve, who was standing in front of her hotel bed with his arms crossed over his chest. She hadn’t seemed surprised to find him there, or, at least, that was the impression Clint had had when he had stepped inside their shared bedroom behind her.

“Communication must be maintained at all times throughout the whole mission.” Steve was fighting to keep the tone of his voice under check, but it looked like an impossible task when she kept on avoiding his gaze as she removed her earrings and carefully laid them down on the dresser. “Certain rules exist for a reason,” he went on.

Torn between the will to speak up and the need to see how Larisa would handle that conversation, Clint kept his mouth shut, eyes fixed on Natasha. She was leaning against the wall right next to the French window that gave on the balcony and there was the ghost of a smirk tugging at her lips as she stared at both her friends.

“Certain rules exist for the only reason to get you _killed_ ,” Lara rebutted, walking into the bathroom to remove her makeup. Steve followed her, stopped right in the frame of the door, and Clint could see the tension in the muscles of his back even through the light cotton of his shirt. “And I don’t think getting killed would be beneficial to this mission, do you?”

“You’re here to _help_ ,” Steve bit back, moving out of the way when she walked out of the bathroom with a now clean face. “Don’t fool yourself into thinking that we would _ever_ allow you to lead a mission.”

Lara sighed. She had stopped right in front of Clint and, for a moment, he feared she was going to kiss him. Instead, she shoved a hand in the left pocket of the pants of his tuxedo and retrieved the invitation they had been given for the second night of the event. She threw him a grin before turning around to show Rogers the elegant piece of paper.

“You really think we would have gone this far with stupid earpieces in our ears?” She smirked triumphantly and Steve had to grit his teeth. “Or do you _really_ deem agents such as myself to be so _stupid_ to not put up security measures to stop unwanted guests with even more unwanted gear?” She walked up to him and only stopped when the tips of her sandals were touching those of his shoes. “Todorovsky is no newbie. I am no newbie. Nobody in the real heart of that party is a newbie. You’d have to dig real deep to find someone who’s not a murderer among your man’s friends. We’re all spies, hitmen, and murderers, and we’ve dealt with our fair share of good guys to foreshadow how you’re going to act.”

Steve seemed to ponder her words and after endless minutes of tense silence, he moved his gaze from Larisa to Natasha. “It’s done, she’s out. You and me, same plan, we’re acting tomorrow.”

“Steve, I-”

“No need to step in for me, Nasha.” Lara raised a hand in mid-air to cut her friend’s words. “I’m not going to allow this stuck-up soldier to change plans. You came to me, you boarded me on your quinjet, you sent me to that fucking party with your archer. You should have known I don’t bow down before anybody’s orders–or did Fury make you believe I’m one of his agents?”

“You are a loose cannon and I’m not going to risk a mission that has taken us _five months_ to plan just because you-”

“I mean, you’re free to do whatever you want, I’ve already had my share of fun at the party _and with Clint_.” Lara shrugged, back relaxed and shoulder blades drawn back to open up her chest. Even from behind, her body language was mesmerizing and Clint couldn’t force himself to tear his eyes away from her. “But who do you think Todorovsky is going to trust? Captain America, everybody’s pain in the ass? Black Widow, the traitorous bitch that moved to stand behind enemy lines? Or the Mantis, his one and only weak point?”

“Steve, she’s right.” Nat had stepped away from the wall and she moved to stand next to the former KGB agent. “We’re too well-known, it’s no secret that we stand against them. She’s-”

But Steve interrupted her. “She’s been in America for far too long to fool them and make them believe she’s still one of them.”

“Who says I’m one of you?” Larisa chuckled. “As far as _my_ _agency_ is concerned, I’m on a voluntary leave to keep my eyes on the infamous Avengers. They all want dear Natasha back and since we’ve always been pretty close…”

“You’re saying you’re against us?”

“ _I’m saying_ ,” she sighed, hands sliding up Steve’s chest before they firmly cupped his neck, “that I’m your best shot, no matter how much you hate it when someone doesn’t follow your orders. _I’m saying_ that I know Todorovsky, that I know his men. Clint and I also got to know some of his guests. What do you think would happen if you stepped in our place?”

“We get this mission done with.”

“No,” she answered, sighing to stop herself from slapping the arrogance out of Steve. “You’re only going to make suspicions arise. If you think nobody recognized me tonight, then you’re either too hopeful or too dumb. The Mantis shows up to a party with her pretty husband and then skips the second and most important night? People are going to question my absence and if his guests become unsettled, Todorovsky won’t show up.”

It was then that Clint stepped in. He grabbed Larisa’s wrist and pulled her back as he stepped forward. “Let’s do this her way,” he said to his captain. “You might not trust her, but I do.”

“You barely know her. She could sell us off, for all we know. Natasha was wrong to want her here.”

“I’m still in the room, Rogers.”

Neither of the men paid Natasha any attention, for Clint had already started to talk. “We’ve had time to… deepen our knowledge of each other, one could say.” He felt Larisa smirk from slightly behind him, the exhale from her nose an amused sound in the tense atmosphere of the room. “And she knows them all better than we do. And anyway, I’m going to be by her side for the whole duration of the night: a wrong move and we’re out of there.”

Steve’s concerns could have been his own, had Clint not already fallen under Larisa’s spell.

 

*

 

_“Who is this Todorovsky guy to her?” he asked Nat. They had gone out for a run in Central Park early that morning and were now sitting on a bench, shielded from the morning sun by the branches of an old tree._

_Natasha kept quiet for a while, legs stretched out and head thrown back to look up at the clear sky. He stared as she inhaled deeply and then exhaled slowly, as her eyes fell shut for a moment before she lulled her head to the side to look at him. “If I tell you, this remains between the two of us.”_

_“You really think I’d go around spilling secrets?” He mocked outrage. “Fuck, Romanoff, I thought there was mutual trust here.”_

_She chuckled and he grinned at her. “This is… This is more important than anything else. This is_ her _story and I’ve sworn to never tell her secrets. She’s like a sister to me–always has been and probably always will be. If I tell you, you must pretend you know nothing about this with her.”_

 _He stared at her long and hard. They shared everything–or_ almost _everything. They were partners, they had each other’s back and in order to have each other’s back, they needed to know as much as they could about the other. This, however, went beyond their friendship. It overflowed into whatever it was that he had with Larisa–attraction, lust, love, the wish to be friends, he truly did not know._

 _What he_ did _know, though, was the need to find out more about the woman that plagued his every day. What was she like? And what had she been like before coming to America? How was the girl that grew up in the Red Room, that became a KGB agent first and a renowned assassin later? She was there, working behind_ his _scenes, and yet, she felt worlds apart. The certainty of not standing a chance to be allowed in the closed and guarded box of her memories only pushed his desire to get to know her more to the next level._

_“I won’t tell her,” he heard himself assure. “Not to her and not to anyone else, I promise.”_

_Nat didn’t look away and for a moment she seemed to contemplate whether she truly wanted to risk being beheaded by her oldest friend. Eventually, she chose to speak. “You remember when I told you that I…” She closed her eyes, mouth suddenly dry and lungs heavy as the scar on her belly seemed to catch fire. “That I cannot have kids,” she forced herself to say. It felt more consuming than the run she was recovering from, harder than it had been to leave Lara behind when she finally graduated from the Red Room Academy._

_Clint cleared his throat and as he stared at her, he saw her snap out of the shadows of her past. “It’s okay, you don’t have to talk about it if it still hurts.”_

_“You clearly like her and she clearly likes you back.” Natasha shook her head and moved to sit up straight. “It’s about time she finds someone worthy of her.”_

_He didn’t know what she meant with that. Or he did know–or at least imagined–, but it was easier to feign ignorance when the thought of actually having the chance to try a move with the same woman that had kicked his ass in Budapest scared him to the bone._

_“The short version is, Todorovsky was the surgeon they used to sterilize us.” Each and every word she spoke had the same weight of lead balls. They hung heavy in the clear, early-summer air for a few seconds before they fell to the ground like the cases of used bullets. They tasted like blood even in Clint’s mouth and he suddenly regretted asking that much of his friend._

_He kept silent, not knowing what to say and doubting that an idiotic ‘I’m sorry’ could make her feel better._

_“The long version is, Larisa has always been the sweetest girl the Academy ever had and he betrayed her. They all did.” She swallowed, averting her gaze from Clint’s and staring off into the distance in front of her. “No matter what she wants to believe, it took them longer to break her than it took them to break the rest of us. She had this… grace; she was like a living doll and it was probably one of the reasons why they wanted her so badly. Had we been in a completely different environment, anything she asked for, I’m sure they would have given it to her. She hasn’t changed much on that aspect, I’m sure you’ve noticed.” She let out a shallow chuckle and Clint couldn’t stop himself from smirking._

_“Had she asked me to shoot myself, back in Hungary, I probably would have complied,” he agreed, confessing what still felt like a stupid thought. “Foolish, I know.”_

_She laughed. “Nah. When it comes to her, thoughts like that aren’t as foolish as you might think. It was the same back there, growing up. She never used such influence; she only turned to it on rare occasions and even then, it was just because I pushed her to. It was also the leverage Todorovsky used to gain her trust.”_

_“He broke her, didn’t he?”_

_Nat nodded, the movement slow and heavy. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her._

_“There was a side program,” she started again after a brief pause. “Not in the Red Room. The KGB was carrying it out. The underlying purpose was breeding, a sort of agent-making farm, you know. It was fucked up, but she loved kids and he used that on her. Everybody knew she wanted children of her own, one day–we all did, of course, but with her… Somehow, it was different. She had a talent for it all–both kids and anything we did at the Academy: killing, spying, fighting. It was as though she was born for it.”_

_“He promised her he’d put her on that program?”_

_She nodded again and this time she met his eye. “It was all a lie, though. The program didn’t exist, but at the time we didn’t know. I found out the truth only after my graduation and even then, it took me months. Apparently, it was a rumor someone had spread and it somehow became a crystal castle we all wanted to believe in. Not because_ we _had a chance, I don’t even know why we misplaced our hope so blindly.” She laughed, then, and it was short and almost robotic. It sent a shiver down Clint’s spine in the rising temperature of the day. “He told her she was special, though, and that he wasn’t going to touch her for the last part of the graduating ceremony.”_

_“How could she believe him, though?”_

_“Just like Lara, he had his ways. And back then, he was only ten years older than us, fifteen at most. We all swooned over him: he was beautiful and strong and he was one of the few men we had the chance to interact with at the Academy. Even I had a small crush on him,” she chuckled. “They shared something deeper than a crush and he somehow convinced her he would never touch her, that he would never put her on a stainless-steel table, and she fell for it. You ask how she could believe him. The real question is, how could she_ not _?” She shrugged her shoulders and once again, she avoided his burning gaze. “We all fought it, fought the idea of having that piece of us taken away from us. Some fought more fiercely than others, but in the end, we all bent to it. But when it came to her, she… She refused to see reason to the point where she started to slack off and consequentially, to get punished regularly. That stupid program was the dream they used to manipulate her.”_

_It was fucked up. He never consciously entertained the idea of bringing kids of his own into this world, but sometimes, when he was lonely and bored in his room, the thought came up. And while he would never confess it, in those moments he found himself wondering what it would be like to be a father._

_He couldn’t even start to imagine how Larisa must have felt._

_“She wouldn’t stop gushing over the idea of getting out of the Academy in one piece,” Nat went on, absentmindedly fiddling with her hands. “I was jealous, of course, but I was also ecstatic for her. She had a way with kids… When the youngest of us made a fuss about anything, the heads of the Academy sent her to calm them down. It was easier for them to find peace with one of us rather than with one of them, and so they kept on feeding her that illusion to keep her sweet. But then, when the time for her graduation came, they broke her, they… They turned her into who–into_ what _–she is today.”_

_It didn’t take long for Clint to put two and two together and the frown that had settled on his face evened out into a more relaxed expression. “You insisted on making her go on this mission because of this, didn’t you?”_

_She hunched her shoulders. “It’s also why I begged them to have you assigned, too.”_

_She was avoiding the real question and he knew it. “What is she going to do to him?”_

_“Whatever it is that he deserves.” Nat clenched her jaw. She kept her gaze set before her, fixed on one of the dogs playing in the park. “I’m not strong enough to do it. She probably isn’t, either, but she’s angrier. He also likes her–he’s always liked her, no surprise she was his favorite. She will tear him to pieces and then we will both be free.”_

 

*

 

Alone once again, Larisa went back to being her teasing self. She turned towards him and all Clint could do was swallow the now forgotten question he had been on the verge of asking.

“Your friend almost ruined my mood,” she purred into his ear when he closed the door of the room. Her hands trailed up his chest from the waist of his pants before they moved to his back to pull him against her. “I _loved_ how you told him you trust me because you see…” She peppered light kisses along the line of his jaw, gently nipped his ear lobe and inhaled deeply, her nose skimming along the side of his neck. “You should _not_.”

He gulped, but now that he had tasted her and that she had tasted him–heck, she had _swallowed_ him in a fucking public place–, he couldn’t find it in himself to stop his hands from moving over her ass and squeeze it harshly. “Still, no need for him to know it, isn’t it?”

Lara moved her head back and she stared right at him, a mischievous smirk tugging at her lips. “I love it when they play my game,” she grinned to herself. But had she meant to keep it a secret, she would have at least made the vain effort to mutter those words in Russian–which she didn’t. “It makes it all the more _enjoyable_ ,” she added, moving better between his legs and pressing herself against him. “Almost makes me want to let you take me on this very bed.”

“‘Almost’?” Clint asked, slightly tilting his head to the side and lowering his gaze to swipe it across her cleavage.

She took a step back and her hands traveled up her sides to reach the straps of her dress. Eyes fixed on his, she never broke eye contact as she slowly let the straps fall down her shoulders, allowing the dress to slide down to the floor. “ _Almost_ ,” she confirmed.

Clint found himself incapable of moving as he stared at her. Dressed in only nude lace panties and golden sandals, she looked like a fucking goddess, one that kicked Steve and the whole Todorovsky mission out of the metaphorical window of his mind.

A whimper tore out of his throat when she pushed her panties down her legs before she took a step back, closer to the bed, to step out of them.

“I will let you touch me once, though,” she said, voice suave and gaze burning, smirk turning into a small smile.

“Just once?”

She nodded. “For now,” she clarified. “I’m still hungry. You must be one special kind of man if I still make myself come at the thought of you after ten long years.”

He took a step forward and for a moment he wished for it to already be dawn–and for it to be legal to fuck her on the balcony of their room _and_ in the light of day. She made him bolder and she made him reckless, and he wasn’t exactly sure he didn’t like it. All he needed was a word from her and he was sure he’d do anything she wanted–much like Nat had said that day in Central Park.

“Come here,” she moaned, beckoning him to her with a finger. “And kneel.”

The thought of her allowing him to give her head _again_ , after the way he had made her come at Tony’s party a month ago, made him shudder as he stared at her before he let himself fall to his knees in front of her. It made him hard–harder than he already was. He almost felt tipsy at the idea of swiping his tongue between her folds and as he glanced at her, he saw that she was wet.

 _God_.

God, he wanted so many things at once so badly: to touch her, to touch himself, and for her to touch him.

God, he was going to beg her–what for, he didn’t know, but he’d be happy with anything she chose to deliver.

“Take my heels off.”

His eyes snapped up to meet hers and he felt his chest constrict a little at the sight of her hardened nipples. “What?”

Her smile turned into a smirk once again and he gasped when she trailed her right foot up along his thigh. It was just a matter of inches, but it made his vision spin and his breathing turn labored. “Take them off.” She pushed his hands away when they glided up her thighs, though, and the amused spark in her eyes told him not to take the tone of her voice too seriously. “I didn’t say you could touch me, only that you have to take my heels off.”

“You said I could touch you once,” he frowned, fingers trailing down her shin and wrapping around her ankle as he lifted her foot an inch off the ground.

She laughed, skin breaking out into goosebumps when he unfastened the strap of the high-heeled sandal. “Don’t worry, _Clint_ ,” she drawled, hands coming up to cup her breasts. “I always keep my word.”

A few minutes later, Larisa was sprawled out naked on the bed, a hand between her legs, and Clint was sitting on the cushioned chair he had taken out from the old- but rich-fashioned writing desk present in the room. Butt-naked, he was doing his best not to touch himself. He wasn’t one to obey orders in the bedroom, but _fuck_ , the things he let her make him do…

“Do you have any idea of how often I’ve found myself in this position?” she whimpered, tugging at a nipple with a hand and absentmindedly sliding a finger up and down between her slick folds. “With the image of you sitting naked in front of me, staring at me coming with your name on my lips?”

Clint’s breath hitched in his throat and he had to stop his hips from slightly bucking off the chair. “Tell me.”

She chuckled at his breathy voice, so meek and almost _broken_ , and she slipped a finger inside her vagina. “ _So many times_.” Each word hung heavy in the hot air of the bedroom, forcing him to open his legs a little wider.

“Why not let me touch you, then?” he wondered. He could feel himself twitch as he followed her every move. She had started to slowly finger herself–with two fingers now–as her free hand kept on teasing her breasts. “Why not let me make you come?”

She whimpered, and a choked ‘Clint’ left her lips as her head tilted back slightly. “Oh, I will.” She was panting softly, giving her left nipple a tug before the hand that had been fondling her tits caressed down her abdomen and stopped between her legs. He moaned when her fingers moved over her clit, tentatively circling it once. “But I want to do this first,” she went on. “And I want it _so badly_.”

“ _Fuck_.” His was a whispered curse, muttered under his breath, but when her lips broke out into a grin, he knew she had heard him. “Fuck, the things you do to me,” he groaned. His left hand moved from his thigh to give his erection a firm tug and he whimpered when he swiped his thumb across the reddened head of his dick.

“Don’t touch yourself,” he heard her beg. “ _Please_ , don’t touch yourself yet.”

The way she said those words, with that weak and dreamy voice of hers, halted his movements and his eyes drifted back to her bare form.

“Look at me.”

And he did just that. He stared at her heaving chest, heavy breasts covered in a thin layer of sweat as the blood boiled under her skin. He stared at her nipples, wishing he could only tug on them the way she had done herself, wishing he could lightly graze their sensitive skin with his teeth. His gaze drifted lower then, back between her legs, and all he could do was whimper loudly as she pleasured herself.

She was impossibly wet and Clint could both see and hear it–see it on the now glistening skin of her hand and inner thighs, and hear it in the slick sounds of her fingers slowly but steadily thrusting in and out of her.

“God, I could come just at the sight of you,” he found himself blurting out as he shifted in his seat. His dick had already started to ooze pre-cum.

“You better not,” she groaned, raising her head to stare at him. “Don’t you dare come in that chair, Clint.”

More than an order, her words came out as a plea and it made him smirk. “I can’t make promises, doll,” he said, hand moving back to his dick and firmly grabbing its base. She stared at his movements–the way he dragged his hand up, moving the foreskin of his uncut erection with the movement, and then the way he swiped his hand back down and arched his neck in pleasure. “Not when you look so ravishing as you make yourself come for me.”

Her movements halted and she looked at him with burning eyes as she fought her way through her labored breathing to think a little more clearly. “Come here,” she eventually ordered, “lay down next to me.”

Clint complied more than happily: he stood from the chair and hissed when the leaking head of his dick bumped against his stomach and he strode towards the bed, doing his best to look dominating when she clearly had him by his balls. Against his wishes, that almost pushed him to lay between her legs, he followed his better judgment and laid down on his side next to her.

She moaned at the sight of him, so close and for the first time in ten years, as naked as he could be. She could feel him against the skin of her thigh and he could feel her too–he ground himself against her leg once before she pushed him onto his back.

“I don’t like being manipulated,” she grunted, straddling his hips.

Clint’s chuckle was cut short because _God_ , he could feel her a breath away from the base of his dick and he was shot to the fucking Moon and back. His hands came up her thighs and for a moment or two, she let him do. “ _I_ am the one manipulating _you_?”

She scoffed. “I stopped manipulating you the day Fury released me from my cell. So, unless you see another man in this room,” she whispered, bending down above him to brush her lips against his neck, “then _yes_.”

He didn’t have the time to ask his most burning question–after all, he thought _she_ was the one manipulating _him_ into wanting her _this_ badly–for she swatted his hands away from her body and she slid against him.

His breath got caught in his throat.

 _God_ , she was so fucking hot and _wet_ against him, as his erection slipped between her dripping folds and as she dragged herself along its length… It left him breathless, his mind empty as his back arched off the mattress. She repeated the movement and he whimpered–and _she_ whimpered at the sounds _he_ made, too.

Fuck, if this wasn’t the hottest thing a woman had ever done to him… He was so close to being sheathed inside her and yet, at the same time, so far from such a dream. Almost better than sex.

 _Almost_.

“God, you’re harder than a rock,” she whined in his ear, pressing her chest down against his. “I can’t wait to feel you inside me.” She sucked a point right under his ear and his hips bucked up a little. For some sick twist of fate, though, all he bumped into was her clit, forcing a loud moan out of her as her forehead fell down onto his shoulder.

“Can’t wait to feel your cunt stretching around me,” he muttered, grabbing a hold of her hips and not moving his hands from there even when hers came up to swat his away again.

“Not now,” she panted, sitting up and moving her hands on his pecs to keep her balance. “Keep your hands there, but _not now_ , please.”

He moaned at the sight of her glossy eyes, at how she could keep them open as she kept on sliding her dripping folds back and forth along his length, and she whimpered in response.

Breasts heavy, lips parted as breathy moans escaped through them, she was such a sight that Clint didn’t exactly know how he managed to keep his cool.

“Fuck, you’re something else entirely,” he groaned, fingers kneading the flesh of her hips.

She smirked down at him, speeding up her sliding movements along the length of his dick.

Less than two minutes later, he was coming hard on the taut skin of his stomach and she was falling apart just above him.

 

*

 

_What would have later turned into a plan for revenge against Todorovsky had initially started as a silly game in the Red Room. Lara had unconsciously started to plant roots in the surgeon’s head and many years from that first day, it would be their shared past the only loophole the man hadn’t considered would lead him to his own demise._

_It seriously started on one Friday night as she exited the auditory-overload room. Corridors and halls empty in that wing of the building, Aleksandr Todorovsky stood right opposite the door, leaning against the wall._

_“Sashenka,” she greeted him in a teasing tone, closing the metal door of the room behind her back. It was something she loved to do–call him with that girly nickname–, for she loved to tease him. Hadn’t he been her superior, she would have probably found a way to sneak into his private quarters without him purposefully coming to look for her._

_“Larisa Efimovna,” he teased back. “One might start to think there’s a reason behind your constant in-and-out of corrective rooms.”_

_“Oh, yes?” She smirked as she passed him in the dimly-lit corridor. “One might start to think there’s a reason behind your constant presence outside such corrective rooms, as well.”_

_Aleksandr chuckled. It went against any rules the Academy had ever come up with–any kind of personal relationship between the students and the professional body was forbidden–, but when it came to Larisa, anything could turn into a tease without the risk of repercussions. At least, not now that she had started to rebel even more against the rules after the discovery of the compulsory sterilization. “Fancy to join me for dinner?” he asked, falling into step right beside her._

_The back of his hand brushed not-so-innocently against hers and she had to swallow a smirk. It was no secret that most girls–if not every single one of them–harbored some sort of crush for the young doctor. The age gap didn’t seem to matter, not when he looked like a fallen god–caramel-blonde hair, piercing grey eyes, the body of a fighter, and the precise hands of a clockmaker that worked wonders in more fields than one._

_Larisa loved to play hard to catch, though, so it was no surprise to hear her hum. “I was indeed going to sneak into the kitchen to steal some food. But a tête-à-tête dinner? I don’t know, sir,” and she drawled out that last word, for she knew how much he enjoyed to be addressed as such. “I’m already punished often enough as it is. I wouldn’t want to risk another trip to the zone…”_

_A ‘trip to the zone’ was how Nasha had started to call the not-so-welcome stays inside the auditory-overload or sensory-deprivation rooms. It was just four walls and the poor, punished student that had had the bad luck of ending up in there. And in such a constrictive space, one couldn’t help but think of being in a prison cell._

_Todorovsky’s hand moved behind her to rest on her lower back, fingers a breath away from a borderline dirtier touch. “No need to worry, Larisa Efimovna,” he answered, lips skimming against the warm skin of her left temple. “After all, I should make sure everything’s alright with you after two hours in that room. Control your hearing, check how well you respond to my stimuli…”_

_A shiver ran down Lara’s spine and the smirk she had previously successfully managed to suppress found a way to plaster itself on her lips. “Well, when you so kindly propose,_ sir _…” she said, pressing herself better against his side, a hand trailing down his abdomen to fleetingly palm his crotch. She was covered in cold sweat, but he didn’t seem to mind. “Isn’t it a little late, though? After all, it’s well past dinner time… If my coordinator finds me out of my dorm at this hour of the night, I’d be in deep trouble.”_

_“Health first,” he simply said, leading her down the staircase that hopefully led to his quarters._

_It was a game they often played. He enjoyed to have the upper hand, use his authority on the Academy’s most-wanted student, and she enjoyed making him believe he was actually the one in charge, fooling him into believing he had any power over her as she let him settle between her legs._

_So, she faked a gasp when he opened the door of his room and moved to the side to let her enter first. Even though he had never really brought her there, she had still seen such a gesture coming after all the intimate and teasing moments they had shared. “Sir, this is not your study.”_

_“There’s no need to go and open it again at this hour,” he shrugged. He closed the door and locked it without breaking eye contact. “Besides, I thought you’d rather eat something before I start my…_ examination _.”_

_There was no threat in his voice and Larisa knew that if she only said a word, he’d let her go back to her room. Todorovsky could come off as an imposing man, and even more so with those broad shoulders and tall and built body of his, but he wasn’t one to take advantage of women. And it didn’t matter that she could take him down in less than a minute, even being half his size, for he still respected her and her decisions–even despite the misleading plan he was carrying out against her._

_“I’m afraid it’s not food I’m hungry for right now, sir.” She had a way of her own to come off as both innocent and ravishing at once. Hands clasped behind her back in a seemingly deferential stance, she was drawing her shoulders back to open up her chest, and in the warm lights of the room, she knew he could see her half-hardened nipples underneath the sweated cotton of her shirt. “Even if I’d gladly have a shot of something to drink. Detention left me quite thirsty.”_

_Giving alcohols to students could be severely punished if such a violation were to be disclosed. But Todorovsky was a well-respected doctor inside the walls of the Red Room and anything he said medical-wise was never met with obstacles. So, he poured himself and her a shot of vodka and handed her the glass. “For medical purposes,” he admonished, fingers grazing hers when their hands touched._

_“Of course, sir,” she smiled._

_She kept her gaze fixed on his as she downed the burning contents of her shot and watched raptured at the way Aleksandr’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he mirrored her movements._

_Then, just like that, he was on her. Hands insistent on her hips and lips bruising against the skin of her neck, she found herself opening up to him as her hands came up to cradle his head._

_A harsh movement and she would snap his neck. It was a recurring thought–not because she secretly dreamed of murdering him, she wasn’t that stupid after all, not when she had such a man willing to pleasure her for his own pleasure, but because she wanted to know what it felt like, to kill a man, to hold such a power in her seemingly-innocent hands._

_It always started like that between them. He pretended to tend to her neck, careful not to leave any suspicious hickey in his wake before he got her naked in a matter of minutes._

_“I should make sure your punishment didn’t leave you fuzzy-headed,” he contemplated as he took her naked body in._

_God, was she perfect. Perfect skin, taut muscles and soft limbs at once, nice and round tits–she surely was a sight to behold. She kept him awake at night and the occasions where he got himself off at the memory of her sprawled out on his bed weren’t exactly rare._

_“Is that alright with you?” he smirked, thumbs caressing her hardened nipples in a slow and teasing touch, almost making her toes curl._

_She wanted to tell him to cut the game short, to fucking give her whatever the fuck he wanted, but she thought better of it. Instead, she nodded, hands holding his wrists in place for a couple of seconds before they moved up his forearms and biceps. She also wanted to point out how, as a doctor, he should be wearing his white coat, but fuck, the sight of him in that light grey shirt of his made her wetter than she’d like._

_He knelt before her, lips skimming along her belly and hands holding her thighs tightly to keep her in place. “Make sure you’re still in one piece,” he muttered a second before he lapped at her labia with his tongue, making her gasp._

 

*

 

Lara shooked herself out of her memory and smiled at Clint. Whether there was something deeper between the two of them or it was simple and unadulterated lust, she tried not to care too much, for it was always better than the ways she had allowed Todorovsky–once simply ‘Shura’ or ‘Sasha’–to touch her.

“I’m most likely going to do and say some things in Todorovky’s presence, even coming to call him by his name,” she said as she followed him inside the elevator to reach the ground floor and exit in the warm, summer night. “I need to know you truly trust me, that you know I’m only playing my part in the grand scheme of things.”

She saw Clint glance at her, caught their reflection in one of the mirrored walls of the elevator. Dressed in total black, Clint looked as good as ever. She smiled at him, a small, sad smile that could have given all her fears away if only Clint Barton had truly known how to read her.

“I do,” he confirmed when the doors of the elevator opened.

They both crossed the lobby, gaining many a look from the other residents of the hotel for their more than elegant attire. Lara curtly nodded to the woman behind the desk and smiled at the ‘ _buon divertimento_ ’ she cheerfully wished them. The night was probably going to go in the opposite direction of ‘fun’, but it was time she faced her demons–time she _defeated_ such demons.

“I will need you to follow my lead,” she sighed, inhaling deeply before entering the white cab they had asked the hotel to call. She quickly gave the address of Todorovky’s villa to the driver before she turned to stare at Clint.

He had taken her hand in his and was toying with the diamond on the fake wedding ring she was wearing for the mission. “I’ll play your game,” he nodded after a while.

They spent the rest of the drive in silence, both too busy following their thoughts to spark up any kind of conversation. And as Clint was visibly thrilled to get to the party and finish the mission, he couldn’t read Lara. Seated with her back relaxed against the seatback, she was staring out of the window at a Bellagio buzzing with tourist life.

He had been on the verge of telling her how good she looked in red many a time ever since he saw her in that dress. Plunging neckline, vertiginous split that cut the front of her right leg to a little higher than mid-thigh, sleeves that hugged her arms, she looked like a goddess. For some reason he couldn’t explain, though, he couldn’t bring himself to speak his mind, not after the half-disgusted look he had seen her give herself in the elevator.

And when he hopefully found the guts to say something, she had already exited the car and was still waiting for him in her spot when he reached her after he paid the driver.

She smiled up at him when she fixed his tie and for the first time, it wasn’t a real smile. Clint noticed–he always did, he was probably starting to learn her better–, but didn’t directly point it out.

“Tense?” he asked as he hugged her waist with an arm.

She shrugged her shoulders. “I’m inexplicably exhausted all of a sudden,” she confessed after a while, as they walked up the graveled path that led to the entrance of the villa. “Todorovsky and I…” She let out a sigh, fixing a loose strand of hair that had already escaped her hairdo. “We share a past. I would tell you about it, but I…”

“No need to,” Clint reassured her, gently squeezing her side once before she showed their invitation to the same gorillas that had welcomed them the night before. He only continued to talk when they stepped inside the mansion and headed to the doors that led to the real party, past a crowd of guests even bigger than that of the first night. “I said I’d follow your lead, and that’s what I plan on doing. You’re in charge tonight.”

That last sentence made her chuckle and it took her a second longer to show her _БГМЛ_ tattoo to the new set of bodyguards.

“I sure like the sound of it,” she grinned.

He didn’t tell her she could share her secret when she felt like it and he truly didn’t know why. He looked at her and he just knew he couldn’t. It was something that went beyond him, and it was probably silly, considered who she was and what she had always done for a living, but he truly hoped he’d one day gain her full trust.

She flashed him a grin, then, and suddenly, it was as though everything was back to normal–her eyes were twinkling, her hand was teasing his inner thigh as they entered the heart of the party, and her lips came up to press against his cheek.

“Ready to be my trophy husband again?” she giggled and her words made him chuckle as he stared down at her.

“Count me ready _and_ thrilled,” he teased, smacking her ass and making her laugh.

“Very well, then.” She accompanied him to the bar and ordered him a drink. They had switched back to Russian not to make suspicions arise and not to catch anyone’s attention. “I will go and try to earn us a private meeting with our dear host before his actual appearance. You can enjoy the naked dancers in the meantime,” she smirked.

Clint stared at her with a grin on his face as he lifted the glass of whiskey on the rocks to his lips and only when she disappeared behind a door, he shook his head and turned his gaze to the party.

The same women that had been naked the night before were just as bare today, even though the golden glitters making their bodies glimmer had been replaced with sparkling red dust that made it look like they had tongues of fire on their skin. But as tantalizing as the view was, he couldn’t enjoy their slow and sensual dance, not even when the dancers exchanged kisses and touches. He didn’t even notice how the main color of the room was red today: red decorations, red-tinted ice statues, elegant red dresses on the stunning women that had been invited.

He probably shouldn’t have let Larisa walk away alone. After all, he had assured Steve he’d be with her at all times. It didn’t matter that he had a prepaid phone in the front pocket of his pants and that he could either call Rogers or Goncharova, for he found himself paralyzed on the bar stool he was sitting on.

What an idiot! To trust so blindly someone deemed so untrustworthy was a true child’s mistake. And yet, he wanted to believe she was redeemable, just like Nat. He wanted to believe it, for if it was true and if the impossible became possible, he could let himself fall for her as completely as he wanted.

Just as he was on the verge of walking off in the direction Lara had disappeared into, though, he felt someone wrap around his side and was startled to see his pretended wife frowning at him.

“You okay?”

He hurried to finish his forgotten drink–whiskey on melted rocks, now–and nodded his head, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer. Head nuzzled in the crook of her neck, he breathed her in, involuntarily pushing her to tense.

“You sure?” she whispered, pressing her lips against his cheek. “I can do it on my own if you fear we’re risking something.”

“No, I’m fine, just…”

“You just thought I was going to betray you,” she finished his sentence for him and he averted his gaze in embarrassment. “It’s okay, you don’t have to justify yourself. I know who I am and what I’ve done, I hold no grudge. Sleeping with someone and trusting that person are two completely different things, trust me: I know.”

“I trust you,” he tried to say, “I just…”

“Clint,” she called, cradling his face in her hands and planting a kiss on his lips when she felt Todorovsky’s eyes on them. “I am with you, I promise. But we should go now, we’ve almost reached our target. Rasputin’s nail,” she added when she noticed the puzzled glance of a woman that had just reached the bar. She glared at her until the other scurried away and then took Clint’s hand in hers.

The walk to Todorovsky’s office was silent. Larisa had half-expected for the treacherous man to lead the way after seeing his reflection staring at her in one of the mirrors in the ballroom, but when she and Clint reached the door that led to the farthest side of the house, she found the way empty.

The unguarded door of the office was open, though, and as Lara’s customs, she entered without knocking.

“Some habits are hard to die,” the man behind the huge cherry-wood desk welcomed them, standing up and walking around the piece of furniture.

“Just like you, Aleksandr Sergeyevich,” Lara laughed, kissing both his cheeks when he came close enough. “I saw you staring. Hard at the sight of me dressed in your favorite color? Or maybe jealous you lost me to some other man?”

“As if a trophy husband could stand a chance against me,” Todorovsky chuckled, shaking his head and extending a hand to Clint to shake. “James, right? I would have never expected for someone like Larochka to settle down.”

Lara kissed Clint’s cheek and side-hugged him. Clint could feel her breasts press up against his arm and for a moment, that was the only thing he could think about, grounding him enough to allow him to remember the fake name they had chosen for the mission.

“Had I known you haven’t aged one bit, I would have waited to marry someone else,” she winked. “ _Or_ ,” she added, extending a hand to trail an imaginary line from the crotch of Todorovky’s pants to his Adam’s apple with the perfectly manicured red nail of her index finger, “I could be shared. I’m sure James wouldn’t mind.”

They talked as if Clint wasn’t in the room and even when they all sat on the armchair and couch present in the office, Lara and their target seemed to only have eyes for each other.

Clint’s trust in her started to dwindle.

“I wanted to get back to business,” Lara was saying, her foot teasing Todorovsky’s shin up and down. “Get back under one roof and all that. I miss that life. America is…” She seemed to struggle for words.

“Boring?” the man suggested, casually resting a hand on her exposed knee.

She smiled. “In lack of better words, yes.”

“I thought you had been assigned on a recce mission.”

“You can speak freely, Shura,” Lara smiled, moving her hand over his and seemingly forgetting about Clint’s presence. “My husband knows not to talk about my business.”

“You have him by the balls, don’t you?”

“Tell me what man I _didn’t_ have by the balls,” she laughed disdainfully. She hated how that man had been Aleksandr Todorovsky himself, but she did her best not to show it. “And besides, he’s quite good at brainstorming. Gave me many an idea on many an occasion.” She glanced at Clint, throwing him a smile, but before he could react, she had turned back to Todorovsky.

“Very well, then,” the man nodded, unbuttoning the first button of his shirt. It was quite hot in the room and the closed windows couldn’t help and ease the mugginess of the air. “Any luck with the American patriots?”

“I’m considering getting someone else assigned on the mission. The idiots aren’t as brainless as we thought them to be–after all, I’ve been at it for ten years now. It’s getting boring and they’re starting to ask questions. Fresher faces and even fresher minds could unblock the situation.”

“So you thought of getting back to me? Why?”

“Call it sentimental nostalgia,” she drawled, leaning closer to him over the armrest of the sofa. “I miss the old days, miss your touch. Don’t get me wrong, James’ game is stronger than that of any man I’ve been with for one mission or another, but you were still my first…”

Clint swallowed, eyes zeroing in on Lara. He found himself praying with every fiber of his being that the double face she was pulling wasn’t against SHIELD–against _him_.

Todorovsky’s hand shamelessly trailed up the slit in Lara’s dress and dipped between her legs, where she trapped it between her thighs to prevent him from touching her. “Still playing hard to get, though, I see,” he remarked with a smirk. “Holding no grudge because of that little game I had to pull on you, aren’t you?”

She swatted a hand in mid-air, giving him a sly smile. “Nah, it made everything easier. No kids, no worries, right?” But Clint had felt her hand tense against his thigh and he only hoped Todorovsky hadn’t picked up that slight change in her demeanor.

The man nodded, retrieving his hand to rest it on his own crotch as the other arm was slung over the seatback of the armchair. “I’m glad to take you back into my team,” he eventually admitted. “Mind you, you’d be treated differently than in the Red Room. After all, you’re no student anymore. Your husband is welcome, too, but I’d like to discuss these matters _in private_.”

A glance at Clint and he was listlessly leaving the room.

“He’s trustworthy, I told you,” Lara tried to reason once Clint had closed the door behind his back. Suddenly, she was on edge, alone with the man that had so easily manipulated her back at the Academy.

“I don’t trust easily, Lara,” Aleksandr groaned, shifting to sit next to her on the couch. His lips were on her neck before she could stop him and now that they were free of any worry, for now there was no Academy who could punish them for the hickeys on her neck, his touch was insistent, his sucking - bruising. The shivers of anticipation that ran down her spine scared her to the bone. “Not when other men are involved.” His hands came up to grab her hips and he pulled her over him until she was straddling his lap. “You were supposed to be mine and I,” he continued, lifting his gaze from the plunging neckline of her dress to meet her eye, “ _do not share_.”

She did her best to contain the shiver that ran down her spine but the truth was, Aleksandr Vladimirovich Todorovsky made her blood run cold, her mind turn empty. “You also do not marry,” she tried to distract him, caressing the sides of his neck with her thumbs.

He laughed. “I was just kidding, kid, relax.” The circular movements of his thumbs on her hips should have been soothing, but all they did was made her even more cautious. And frightened. “Still, I would like one more time with you before discussing the details of this alliance. For old times’ sake,” he specified.

Lara forced a smirk before she nodded. “Why don’t we start with a massage, then? If I remember correctly, you used to tense up your shoulders when you were stressed.” The thought of having sex with him again made her nauseous.

The man cursed, a low moan of appreciation leaving his lips. “Go ahead,” he said, letting her stand up and shaking off the jacket of his suit. “Want me to move to a chair?”

He stayed put when she told him the couch was more than fine and as she moved to stand behind him, she sneakily grabbed a heavy, marble paperweight from his desk while he was relaxing against the seatback with his eyes closed. She hit him before he had a chance to understand what was going on.

It took her endless minutes to reach the door of the office and the awaiting Clint, Nasha and Rogers in the corridor, for she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the unconscious body of the man who had successfully managed to kill Larisa Efimovna Goncharova.

 

*

 

_The first time Larisa showered after her graduation, she let tears run free for the first time in forever–no crying and no showing weakness at the Academy, it was simply not allowed, not if you wanted to go far. Being in that shower went against what the nurses in the Red Room had told her before releasing her into the world, but now all she wanted to do was see the stitched wound on the lower part of her abdomen rot. She wanted to see it bleed her out to death, wanted to pick at the stitches until they snapped._

_How could have she been so stupid to fall into their trap?_

_And how could have she been so foolish to let Aleksandr manipulate her? To believe he wasn’t just doing it–doing_ her _–for some sick wish for pleasure of his? She had always believed_ she _was the one with the upper hand in the carnal relationship they shared and yet, here she was, betrayed and torn and broken. Covered in bruises and with a slowly healing wound that shouldn’t have been there. One piece less to call her own–to make her_ whole _._

_She punched the tiled wall of the curtainless shower, unconcerned by the pain that exploded in her knuckles._

_It didn’t matter that the running water was scalding on her skin and setting those damned stitches on fire, punching the bruises on her body one by one, for a wave of slowly-mounting anger had started to creep up her back. It went straight to her mind and turned her sight blurry. It didn’t matter that the real cause was the water of the shower running down her face, mixing with her tears of shame, for all she could feel now was the blood burning in her veins, her nails cutting into the flesh of her palms, her short and ragged and heavy breathing raising the already boiling temperature of the room._

_There was a minute, in that motel shower, where she promised herself she wouldn’t let herself be so foolishly blind anymore. The good old days of the Red Room were behind her back now–and so was the short-lived innocence of her childhood and adolescence. It was a fleeting thought, one that was gone as soon as it popped up, but she swore herself she’d make good on her promise until the day she died._

_One by one, she was going to take down all those who had twisted her mind around the utopia of her being safe in her perfect cocoon of innocence. Sasha was going to be the last, she promised herself. She’d watch him react to all the other deaths, gauging for any sign of recognition about_ who _, exactly, could be behind the murders, before she took her time with him, the same way he used to take his sweet time with her._

_“Lara? You’re in there?”_

_Nasha’s voice was muffled both by the bathroom door and the running water of the shower, but Lara still managed to make out her words. Still, she didn’t answer and when Natasha entered the bathroom, she didn’t startle in surprise._

_She didn’t know how her friend had managed to find her, but it was no wonder. Now that Natasha stood with the KGB, Lara was sure she had her ways to find out things. And people._

_“You okay?”_

_She shrugged, still not facing her._

_“How did the graduation go?”_

_There was a tense curiosity in her friend’s voice. It made her chuckle–cold and mechanical and devoid of any emotion._

_“As it was always supposed to go,” Larisa stated, voice flat and emotionless before she turned around to show her the freshly stitched wound on her belly._

_Natasha didn’t speak. She eyed her friend’s cut for endless minutes and her gaze burned hotter than the water pouring down Larisa’s battered body like rain. Then, she took a step forward, leaving the almost otherworldly safety of the doorframe. “I’m sorry.”_

_It was something stupid to say, something meaningless. Had her friend apologized to her upon finding out about her sterilization, Natasha would have burst out laughing in her face. But Lara didn’t react and in the dying light of the afternoon, she saw rage sparkle in her friend’s eyes. Had she been foolish, she would have found herself retreating before the beast that was now standing less than two meters from her._

_“I was stupid,” Lara started after a while, turning around to turn off the water. “A stupid girl who thought she could beat the wolves in their own den. Stupid enough to believe a man could ever fall for someone like us.” She turned then, walked towards her until her hands grasped the towel she had left in the sink. “Lethal weapons of destruction.”_

_Natasha tried to think smartly, but the four walls of the bathroom felt like they were closing in on her as she stared at her ragingly calm friend. “The world is not the Red Room. And the Red Room is not the world.” She laid a hand on her shoulder, but the contact was short-lived as Larisa took a step back as she absentmindedly toweled her sore arms dry._

_“Maybe you’re right,” she smirked, eyes as hard as steel as the neon-like light above the sink shed nightmarish shadows on the unblemished skin of her face. “Or maybe you’re not. But it doesn’t matter.”_

_“It doesn’t?”_

_She shrugged, carefully dabbing the stitched cut on her abdomen dry, never once grimacing at the pain. To Natasha, it was almost as though she couldn’t feel it–couldn’t feel the raging tongues of pain lapping at her whole body, couldn’t feel the fire burning the wounded skin, the toe-curling waves of unsettling agony that made her spine shiver._

_The truth was, though, it was consuming her, eating her alive._

_“We were taught to kill manipulation,” she spoke, “because_ we _are the ones who manipulate, who don’t subdue to such games. It doesn’t matter what the world looks like, nor that we can fool men enough to fall for us.”_

_Natasha took a step back, unable to stop such movement as she watched the now unrecognizable young woman standing before her, slowly dressing._

_“They made themselves an enemy. And what do we do to enemies?”_

_“We sneak up behind them and we kill them.”_

_Pure, animalistic fury burned in Lara’s smile and for the first time, the true face of the Mantis showed up. “We sneak up behind them and we kill them,” she confirmed, letting the used towel fall to the ground._

_“What do you think you’ll do with the agency? You’re a KGB agent now.”_

_“Oh, I’ll work for them alright. I’ll spy for them, I’ll kill for them, but slowly, one brick at a time, I’ll tear the Red Room down.”_

_“Lara, you-”_

_“Lara is dead, Nasha. She never left the operation room.”_

 

*

 

And for as dead as Larisa felt, the Mantis had never been more alive. Blood buzzing in her fingertips, she sat in the cockpit of the quinjet with the same majesty of an ancient being ready to strike.

Clint had been staring at her the whole time, even before boarding the aircraft. She hadn’t said a word after she had opened the door of Todorovsky’s office and yet, he had seen the look in her eyes go from terrified to murderous.

It was clear, in the suffocatingly quiet space of the cockpit, that there were now two parties competing for Todorovsky’s body and he was sure, then and there, that she was going to win.

But as determined as Steve was to see the end of such a tiring mission, he couldn’t seem to be able to catch a whiff of what was going on. Piloting the quinjet with the help of a weary Natasha, listening with one ear to the plan Tony was going over of again, he was as oblivious to the imminent threat as Clint himself was aware of what was coming.

Right then, Lara turned her head to look at him. It was almost like being in a horror movie: her body as still as that of a statue, only her head turned to the side and ever so slowly, the left corner of her mouth stretched into a lopsided smirk. The steely void he could read in her eyes unsettled him, so different from the burning gaze that had looked down on him just the night before. The night of almost-sex they shared seemed to belong to a previous life.

“Lara?” he called, unsure, unbuckling his seatbelt and turning the seat to face her.

“Lara is dead, Clint.” There was a spooky eeriness to her voice, one that seemed to lock every single vertebra of his spine into place as his muscles tensed up. “I am not the only murderer on this jet.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always welcome, it helps me get better at what I do, so feel free to stop by <3


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